by Rachel Caine
When he raised his head, the entire incident was over.
The Forum was deserted--a suddenly blank stretch of old stone littered with belongings and packages that people had abandoned in their haste to be gone. The Greek fire behind Jupiter burned brilliantly, stretching halfway up his legs, and in the flickering, sickly light, it looked as if the god might be melting, but no, it was a trick of shadows. Jupiter was made of hardy stuff.
There were eight bodies near the feet of Mercury across the way, crushed and lifeless. Jess swept the area with a long, straight look, but he didn't see anyone else who'd been hurt or killed.
"Nine dead," he said to Glain. "For what?"
"For what it always is," she said. "A statement." She was already on her feet and offered him a hand up, which he was happy to take. Strange; he seemed weak and a little shaky now, where he'd been ice-cold and focused before. "They knew the Artifex was coming. This message is meant for him."
"Thrown right at us, though. Seems more personal than that," their squad leader remarked, coming up to them. He looked them over. "Good job, new dogs. Didn't have a chance to acquaint ourselves earlier. I'm Tom Rollison, but most call me Troll."
"Glain Wathen, sir. Jess Brightwell." Glain answered for both of them.
"I know who you are. Wolfe's puppies. Word was you'd be trouble." He looked beyond them at the blaze of fire behind the statue. "Word was wrong. That was well done."
"Brightwell's a better shot than most," Glain said.
"Not bad," Troll agreed. He glanced over Jess's shoulder and frowned just a bit. "Seems you've made a new friend."
Jess turned.
The Roman lion, standing taller than his head while on all four paws, was right behind him, staring at him with unholy red eyes. It lowered its bronze-maned head and seemed to smell him, and a low rumble of a growl rattled deep inside the thing.
"Jess?" Glain said, and took a step backward. "Step away. Slowly."
When he tried, the lion took a step forward.
"What the hell did you do to them?" Troll asked from behind him. Their squad leader sounded unnerved. Jess didn't blame him. He didn't dare look away from the lion's set metallic face, from the sickening red eyes. "Wathen! Get out of the way if it's malfunctioning!"
She didn't want to go, Jess realized; she was standing next to him even though every instinct told her to retreat. "Get away," he told her. "This is my trouble. Move!"
She backed away and down five steps to join their squad leader. If I follow them, I put them in danger, he thought, though it took everything he had not to seek the comfort of a group. Every cell of his body remembered running from the London lions outside of St. Paul's. Those had a stone look to them, more muscular and brutal; these Roman lions had a leaner, sleeker build, and a bronze gleam that made their manes shimmer in the sun. Beautiful . . . and deadly.
I could turn it off. If the switch is in the same place.
He desperately didn't want to have to try.
"More coming up!" called someone from below, and Jess risked a glance to see that the pride of lions that had been down in the square was returning to the steps, flowing up in leaps and bounds past the other soldiers.
Coming toward him. Surrounding him.
This is it, he thought. This is how I die. Somehow that felt like a fate he'd always known was coming.
The lion facing him deepened its low, rumbling growl, and he felt rather than saw the others of the pride moving in around him. He heard Glain shouting something, but she was somewhere outside the closing circle. Jess felt the hot burn of air from the lion's nostrils as it moved forward and nudged his chest.
It wanted him to run. Of course. If he reacted, if he ran, then there'd be an excuse for the slaughter. They were on high alert during the Burner attack. Unfortunate miscalculation; if only the recruit hadn't lost his nerve . . .
This was the Artifex's doing, just like the Egyptian gods outside the High Commander's office. Jess realized in a blinding flash, like a bottle of Greek fire dropping on his brain, that if he ran, it would all be over.
And the Artifex wanted him to panic.
He leaned down and stared into the lion's savage eyes and said, "Come on, then, if you're coming. Take a bite. But if you do, everybody will know it wasn't an accident."
He heard Glain's shocked intake of breath and felt that hot, brassy stench of the lion's insides wash over him as the creature opened its wide jaws to display bloody teeth . . . in a yawn.
It closed its mouth, stared at Jess for another long, horrible second, and then turned and padded away to stroll restlessly up and down the steps.
Guarding the building as if nothing had happened.
Jess straightened. He didn't say anything because, in truth, he wasn't sure he could at the moment. Better to look strong and silent than have his voice go as unsteady as his legs.
Troll stared at him as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "I don't know if you're mad or lucky," he said, "but you've got brass guts--I'll give you that."
Jess nodded and took up his post. One by one the other lions broke off and went about their business. When the last left him, he finally felt a sweet, cold wave of relief.
The Artifex wanted him dead, that much was certain, but he wasn't quite ready to make it a public execution. Not yet. He needed Jess to give him some excuse, however minor, to explain away the behavior of the automata. Today would have been a fine one, in the chaos of the Burners, and Jess knew if he'd made the wrong move, he'd be another stain to clean up on the steps tonight.
Rome is a trap. It was too neat, too convenient, that suddenly they'd been dispatched here just after finding the information about the secret prison. The Artifex must have known their plans, or at least strongly suspected them. Khalila and Dario had gone missing. Maybe already locked away.
Disposing of Glain, Jess, and Santi would just be a sensible precaution. Get rid of the fighters; keep the Scholars out of the group who--in the Artifex's counting, maybe--could be controlled and used. It made a sickening kind of sense.
Below, Medica attendants came to claim the bodies, and a squad of firefighters put out the Greek fire blaze. People began to filter back into the Forum in ones and twos, and then suddenly it was full again, as if nothing had happened at all. Only the blackened chemical stains on the stones behind Jupiter and the bloodstains on those near Mercury showed anything at all had interrupted a normal day.
Troll stopped next to him and scanned the people below with distant, cold eyes. "Seems useless, doesn't it?" he asked. "They put us out here, and the Burners take their shot at us, and they die."
"It's a waste on both sides," Jess said. "But we can't let them win. They want to destroy the Library."
He knew that wasn't strictly true; he'd been among the Burners once, had spoken to a local leader. They wanted the Library to change, just as Jess did . . . but their tactics were unacceptably violent.
Troll shifted his weight just a little. "Any idea why the lions hate you so much?"
"No."
"Hmm." Troll surely didn't believe it for a moment. "You know I have to report it. Even if I didn't, there's another squad leader who will. They might pull you out and try to find out what about you alerts them."
Troll seemed to be fishing for something, and Jess didn't like it. He turned and looked at the young man directly to say, "I'm not a Burner, if you're thinking it." But I knew some. That was a secret the Artifex held in reserve, too. Guillaume, his classmate, had come from a Burner family; his bereaved father had taken Jess prisoner in France. If the Artifex wanted to make it seem Jess had become an agent, it would be child's play to make that appear reasonable. "No offense, sir, but why do you care? I'm a one-day-in recruit. You should shed me and get someone else, according to any kind of logic."
"Not that simple," Troll said. "Believe me, I wish it were."
He moved off, stopping to check each of his squad members like any good commander. Jess didn't know what to make of him. Or a
ny of this.
He was still considering the ramifications of it when he realized sometime in the chaos of the Burner attack, his Codex had received a new message.
It was gibberish. He frowned at the text, and then a second later realized he knew this code. It was his own family's highly secure emergency code, used only for the most urgent information. He'd memorized the keys to it when he'd been just a boy.
It read, Your friend lives in the city of seven hills. There was no signature, but one hieroglyphic bird sketched at the end of the code string. Not part of his family's code at all, and it reminded him of the engraving on the ring that Anit, Red Ibrahim's daughter, wore on a chain around her neck--the ring of one of her brothers.
The message was from her. His free gift of the information about the automata had done some good after all, because this was confirmation, at long last, that Thomas was alive.
And here, beneath Jess's feet, in Rome.
EPHEMERA
From a speech by a masked Burner leader, given in the territory of America, 1789. Held strictly in the Black Archives.
You hesitate now to lift your hands and weapons against your oppressors? We have the eyes of nations upon us, all eager to see us break these chains and rise, stand firm, be free of this dire and smothering control that has, year by year, been laid upon us.
We have been told that paper in a binding, ink on a page, is worth more than the life of any man, woman, or child. We have been pressed into the service of this false idol we call Knowledge for far too long; we have forgotten how to be free of it, how to think for ourselves and believe we, in ourselves, are worth the breath we take, the land we walk.
I say it openly and plainly: the Library is a cruel and evil oppressor. For long have we pretended it is not so.
It is time, it is time, it is long past time to rise and take knowledge in our own hands, rather than have it dripped out in cautious doses by an institution long ago rendered moot and lame, cowering behind a wall of power.
We will prevail.
Rise! Though we die, though our stories are lost and never placed on the shelves of the Great Library, though we lose our lives and our very nation, we will never give up one great truth: a life is worth more than a book.
So be it, whatever may come.
CHAPTER NINE
Santi's lieutenant reappeared and called in Jess's squad just as darkness took hold, though the Forum continued a brisk trade under the light of lamps. He was a bit sorry. Rome was just as lovely at night, with the glow of illuminated marble and household lights glittering from windows.
Though leaving the lions behind was a relief.
For the first time, Jess entered the Basilica Julia. They came in on the private side of it, away from the public Serapeum, and as they were led to the area where they were to eat and rest, Jess tried to place the corridor that Wolfe had described during his Mesmer session. Has to be here, he thought. Wolfe could see the Forum from windows as he passed. But instead of windows, they were led along a hallway that held alcoves and Roman statues. The way had to be hidden, he realized. Somewhere, behind one of these statues, there would be an entrance to a concealed hallway. Go left, it would take you to the Translation Chamber. Right, and a sentry automaton and a prison door.
He was so preoccupied with imagining it that it came as a shock when they suddenly arrived in the Basilica Julia's common hall.
It was teeming with people--Scholars, assistants, librarians. The addition of Santi's advance guard packed the place to bursting, but as the lieutenant led them toward the back corner, he saw it had been cleared for them. Several long dining tables and a private alcove. He expected to see Santi and his officers inside, but it was occupied by an old, white-haired man with pale European skin, arrayed in the very finest of Scholar robes and a purple sash to show his importance.
The Artifex Magnus.
Jess went cold inside for an instant, seeing him; the last time he'd laid eyes on the man, he'd been hearing him talk about Thomas's death. The red right hand of the Archivist. The old man, seated in a comfortable chair, conversed with two Scholars he kept standing, and, as Jess watched, one of them--a young Indian woman--bowed respect and moved away. She seemed thrilled to have been in his presence, and as she joined a table of others, he saw how they admired her.
As if she'd accomplished something noteworthy.
That made Jess want to vomit. It was all show. The Artifex was a cruel, power-hungry man who thought nothing of breaking and destroying anyone who threatened his power, but these poor innocents saw him as a mentor, a sponsor, a man of great scholarship.
Something to which they should aspire.
The Artifex looked up as the last Scholar left his presence, and his sharp gaze moved around the room, snagged on Jess, and stopped. He blinked slowly, then turned his attention to a cup an assistant delivered, as if Jess didn't matter at all. Which, Jess thought, he likely didn't. But the Artifex had recognized him. No doubt of that.
Jess found a seat with some of his Blue Squad mates, and they ate with typical High Garda speed. Even so, he'd gotten only a few bites before he felt a hand press down on his shoulder.
It was the squad leader, Troll. "Brightwell," he said. "With me."
"Sir?" Jess stood up.
"The Artifex wants a report. I want you with me."
Troll turned and led the way across the room. Jess caught sight of Captain Santi; the captain sat at a table near one of the exterior walls and gave Jess and Troll a look as they passed that Jess couldn't read at all.
The noisy room fell away. It seemed as if the Artifex sat in a bubble of silence, far from the others, though it wasn't far at all, and then Jess was standing just a few feet away from him, from the man who'd coldly engineered the ruin of Scholar Wolfe, killed who knew how many, sent his best friend to a prison. And for what?
Power.
The Artifex's bright blue eyes fixed on him.
Jess wanted to curl his hands into fists and beat the smile off of him, but he forced himself to stay still as Troll said, "Artifex, sir, you asked for a report on the Burner encounter outside. I'm pleased to say that we had no Library casualties, and no apparent civilian involvement in our response. Nine Burners died. Their information is being retrieved and forwarded to your Codex." He turned toward Jess. "Brightwell is a new addition to our squad, and was the one to alert us to the Burner attack on our flank. He saved many lives today."
It dawned on Jess that the Artifex hadn't requested his presence; his squad leader was trying to do him a favor. Troll had no idea how wrong that was.
The Artifex's cold gaze fixed on Jess, and that smile deepened. It looked real enough. "Well done, Squad Leader. You continue to show great promise, by all reports. I'm sure you will rise high in the ranks. Captain Santi has an eye for talent." There was a slight change in his voice as he said Santi's name, as if he couldn't quite keep the distaste at bay. "Brightwell, Brightwell . . . Ah yes. You studied under Scholar Wolfe, did you not?"
"Yes, sir." Jess had to force that out. His teeth ground together hard enough to hurt. As if you don't remember, you bastard. "I was in his most recent class. The one you sent to the Battle of Oxford."
No reaction from the old man. None. Even his smile stayed warm. "Ah yes, of course. Exemplary work, though the challenges were far beyond what we thought you'd face when we dispatched you there. Your class has proven quite exceptional."
"Yes, sir," he said. "Those of us who survived." If the Artifex read that as a challenge, so be it. "You may want to have a look at the automata outside, sir. They might be malfunctioning. Seems like they almost attacked me. By accident, of course."
"How unusual," the Artifex replied blandly. "I'll have my staff look into it. We certainly wouldn't want any accidents."
"Sir." Jess nodded slightly, which was all the respect he could stomach showing the man. He didn't intend to push his luck any further. But then the Artifex leaned forward in his chair, and there was a cold fire in his eyes th
at made Jess's stomach tighten.
"Have you said hello to my new assistants?" he said. "They asked to be added to my research staff some time ago, and, of course, I could not say no to such excellent candidates once I realized their worth." There was a vicious humor in the Artifex's eyes that was meant only for Jess. "Friends of yours, I think."
For an instant, Jess couldn't think what he was talking about. Not Wolfe, surely, and Santi was here in his capacity as High Garda captain. He's insane, Jess thought, and then he realized, as the Artifex gestured somewhere behind him, what the old man meant.
Jess turned, and Khalila Seif and Dario Santiago stood up from the table where they'd been sitting nearby. He hadn't seen them there; he hadn't been looking for them. Khalila gave him a tentative smile, but there was fear in her eyes. Dario--more handsome and well-dressed than ever--stepped forward and offered Jess his hand. "Brightwell," he said. "Still just a recruit, I see. Nice to see you continue to keep to your natural level." It was just the kind of insult Dario had always given him, but there was a warning flash in Dario's eyes and his handshake felt painfully firm. "Maybe I'll request you as a special guard detail when I go shopping."
Even for Dario, that was laying it on thick, no doubt for the benefit of the Artifex. He watched them like a vulture from the comfort of his overstuffed chair.
"As you wish, Scholar Santiago. I'll try not to accidentally shoot you."
"Only on purpose, eh? You haven't changed, scrubber. I suppose that will do for a fond reunion. I have work to do. Scholar Seif?" Dario gestured to the table where they'd been working and took his seat with a thump. He made a fine show of ignoring Jess altogether.
Khalila walked toward him. "It's good to see you, Jess. You're well?"
"I am. You?"
"Very well. I . . . had no idea you'd be here."
"I could say the same of you," Jess said, and what he really wanted to ask was, Was it your choice? But he couldn't. And, besides, he knew.
"The work being done here in the basilica is truly exciting," Khalila said. "Dario is studying the very pillars of history, you know. It is a field that has always interested me as well."